“He’s off, right enough,” Hamel declared, as the car glided away. “Do you understand it? I don’t.”
Gerald did not speak for several moments. His eyes were still fixed upon the back of the disappearing car. Then he turned towards Hamel.
“There isn’t much,” he said softly, “that Mr. Fentolin doesn’t know. If that detective was really on his way here, there wasn’t any chance of keeping Mr. Dunster to himself. You see, the whole story is common property. And yet, there’s something about the affair that bothers me.”
“And me,” Hamel admitted, watching the car until it became a speck in the distance.
“He was fairly well cornered,” Gerald concluded, as they made their way back to the dining-room, “but it isn’t like him to let go of anything so easily.”
“So you’ve seen the last of our guest,” Mr. Fentolin remarked, as Hamel and Gerald re-entered the dining-room. “A queer fellow—almost a new type to me. Dogged and industrious, I should think. He hadn’t the least right to travel, you know, and I think so long as we had taken the trouble to telephone to Norwich, he might have waited to see the physician. Sarson was very angry about it, but what can you do with these fellows who are never ill? They scarcely know what physical disability means. Well, Mr. Hamel, and how are you going to amuse yourself to-day?”
“I had thought of commencing some reading I brought with me,” Hamel replied, “but Miss Esther has challenged me to another game of golf.”
“Excellent!” Mr. Fentolin declared. “It is very kind of you indeed, Mr. Hamel. It is always a matter of regret for me that society in these parts is so restricted. My nephew and niece have little opportunity for enjoying themselves. Play golf with Mr. Hamel, by all means, my dear child,” he continued, turning to his niece. “Make the most of this glorious spring weather. And what about you, Gerald? What are you doing to-day?”
“I haven’t made up my mind yet, sir,” the boy replied.
Mr. Fentolin sighed.